


Lazarus

by enigmaofherself



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Brotherly Love, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I have joined the Sam Drake train what the fu, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, The Drake bros have had a tough life, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-04-23 17:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14337777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaofherself/pseuds/enigmaofherself
Summary: After being dead for thirteen years, the two he’s forced to spend with Rafe and his lackeys is exactly the kind of afterlife Sam Drake supposed he deserved. The path to absolution is a slow march and the only light on the dark road is a woman who sees more in him that he thought was there to see. It will take a chorus of gunfire, a stranger’s sacrament, and the love of a brother in order for Sam to discover that he had been searching for the wrong treasure, and the wrong Avery, all along.





	1. why do you always seek absolution?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely have no idea how I even got here. Except, I do, because the Uncharted games are life and the Drake brothers are trash angels who need serious professional help and probably a hug.
> 
> I am so sorry but this is the most awful self-indulgent melodrama I have ever written so, naturally, I had to share it.
> 
> Also, shout out to the fantastic IgnorantArmies who inspired me to write this after I read their utterly amazing UC fics which I urge you to go read immediately. Go on, right now. Done? Okay, read mine now.

The sight of the guards blocking his path outside his cell brought Sam a sick sense of relief. It had been a number of months since the last time they had decided to jump him, yet he would take a beating over the stress of waiting for the other shoe to drop, any day.

It hadn’t been a shock to discover that prisons don’t appreciate breakout attempts, especially ones with a two out of three success rate and a dead guard left in their wake. From the moment Sam had woken up, dazed and disoriented after being shot, he had been subject to a seemingly endless torrent of interrogations: how had they escaped, what was the deal they made with Vargas, what had they been looking for in the old tower? To this day, Sam could hardly recall what answers he had given, lost as he was in a haze of agony, panic, and whatever sorry excuse of painkillers he was on. All he knew was that the outcome was a death sentence, one that would take the rest of his life to serve.

Thirteen years of waking up in the same cell was like hearing the same shitty joke over and over and expecting a different punchline. Thanks to Rafe’s impromptu decision making, Sam bore the label of guard-killer, a label that granted the rest of the guards a free pass at him whenever they felt the need to vent their frustration. Sam had learned how to take a punch a long time ago, he could handle the violence of prison life, that wasn’t the problem. It was the life that he was missing out on that was the true punishment.

“Come with us,” said one of the guards in Spanish, not giving Sam the chance to obey before shoving him out into the corridor. Sam quickly caught himself before he could fall, not bothering to protest even if he did think it was rather unusual they were taking him out of the privacy of his cell. He supposed that years of carrying out the same monotony might lead the guards to start thinking more creatively in order to pass the time. Perhaps he should be scared, but he didn’t give a shit. The fire in his belly had long gone out.

It was only when Sam was taken to the Warden’s office that he started to think that maybe something else was going on. Despite his apprehension, he schooled his expression to remain blank, not wanting to give his thoughts away.

The Warden was a small man with a twisted face and narrowed, watery eyes that pierced into Sam like a harpoon. It was rare that he was seen in the grounds, unsurprising considering the nature of the prison, but there still had only been one time that Sam had seen anything that could be construed as emotion cross the man’s face. It had been the first day after the breakout attempt, Sam struggling to remain conscious, his bullet wounds feeling as if the Devil himself had latched his claws into his side, when the Warden had stood over him, Sam’s death certificate in hand, and smiled.

“Good morning, Samuel,” the Warden greeted now.

“Is it?” Sam replied, feeling as weary as he sounded. If this was some dragged out ploy to fuck with him, he wished they would just get it over with.

“I brought you here to inform you that you are leaving us.”

The Warden shuffled some papers on his desk if his words were of little consequence, so it took a few seconds for them to sink in. “What?”

“Ah, yes. It would seem that everything has a price, after all.” The man shook his head as if this was something of a great loss to Sam, a disappointment of some kind. Sam barely noticed, blindsided by the possibility that he had refused to hope for and yet obsessed about for years actually coming true.

“Who?” he asked breathlessly, taking a step forward in his urgency, before a hand came down heavy on his shoulder in warning.

“Someone with the means to pay that price,” said the Warden, a strange look in his eye.

For reasons he never really understood, the Warden had gone to the effort of keeping Sam alive only to announce his death, assumedly in order to ensure that no one would come sniffing around while he was made to carry out his sentence. A guard that Sam had befriended some years back had told him that even his apparent death hadn’t been enough to stop someone from asking questions - Sam knew it was Nathan, it had to be - but the prison had kept up the ruse, even arranging for his ‘ashes’ to be sent as proof. For them to choose slow revenge over quick money was something that baffled Sam to this day, so for the Warden to loosen his grip now after all these years told Sam that whoever was getting him out must have handed over a pretty substantial sum.

Fuck, he hardly dared to dream, but could it be? Had Nathan finally found him? Maybe he had found Avery’s treasure without him and had used the funds to haggle for Sam’s life? My God, Sam didn’t want to hope but he did, he did.

The Warden snapped his fingers and the guards dragged Sam out the room and towards the part of the prison he hadn’t seen in a long, long time: the exit. The procedure of signing him out passed in a blur both too quick and too slow. Sam missed whatever it was the guards said to him, his mind too preoccupied with this unexpected turn in his luck to translate the Spanish. He pictured his baby brother standing there at the gates, that old man Sullivan no doubt hovering nearby, the pair of them waiting for him to appear.

The insistent hope that Sam would one day see his brother again was both a blessing and a curse, because it was the only thing he wanted and yet the one thing that it seemed he would never get. When the pain of accepting that he would never see Nathan again got too much, Sam would busy himself with thoughts of Avery’s treasure, of breaking free and claiming that fortune, but even that was just a means to an end. Finding Avery’s gold would see their mother’s dream complete, it would prove that they weren’t just a couple of bad kids lost to the system; it would set them up for life, it would give them a roof over their head and enough money so that they would never have to go hungry again, and they could finally _live_. But none of that meant anything without Nathan, and Nathan meant everything.

He was given the clothes he had been wearing when he first arrived to change into. Thirteen years of lifting weights meant that the moth-eaten fabric was too tight but Sam wouldn’t have cared if they’d kicked him out buck naked, just so long as he got to leave.

“See ya later, boys,” was the only thing he allowed himself to say to the guards as they rolled back the gate, not wanting to do anything that would fuck up this miracle that had been placed so unexpectedly in his trembling, calloused hands.

The sun was nothing new, nor the dusty air. It was Panama for fuck sake, sun and dust was half the experience, but as he stepped out of the prison it was if he had never before felt the warmth of the sun on his skin or breathed in the air so deep. This was freedom and there, a silhouette leaning against a vehicle on the road, was the one who had paid for it.

It was difficult not to break out into a run, the need to throw his arms around his brother and hold him as tight as he could just to prove he was really here was like a scream burning beneath his skin. From that first second Sam had met his newborn brother, Nathan had become his entire world, his anchor, his compass pointing due north. He had sworn an oath to himself and to his mother that he would never let any harm come to his baby brother. For thirteen years he had broken that promise, and that was an abrasion that would never heal - but it was over, it was done. Nathan was here, Sam told himself. Nathan was here.

But then the sun passed behind the clouds and Sam saw that no, Nathan was not here. He saw the man’s expression, saw that it was the same smile the Warden have given him when Sam had been bleeding out beneath him, and it was then that he knew. Thirteen years were not enough, his sentence was not yet done. There was no freedom here, only the exchange of one prison for another.

“The not-so-prodigal son rises from the dead,” said Rafe, older and rougher now yet still the same. “You left me hanging last time, old friend - no pun intended - but I’m a generous man, I’m all for second chances. Now, let's see if you're worth it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song Snake Eyes by Mumford & Sons.


	2. there are worse things to lose

Rafe had paid a lot of money to get Sam out of the prison, something that he never let Sam forget. _You owe me,_ he said. _I expect something in return,_ he said. _I got you out, I can send you back,_ he said.

Sam didn’t doubt it. The past thirteen years had done nothing to smooth the sharp edges of the man he had once known, but rather honed them to a knife-like point. There was something almost breakable about Rafe now, but not in a way that made him weak, but rather, dangerous.

Even the first time around, there had never been anything between them that could possibly be construed as friendship. It was just a business arrangement, albeit a difficult one, based on them having what the other wanted: money versus knowledge. When Rafe had approached Sam with his offer to assist the brothers in finding the Avery treasure, he had already built up a very particular type of reputation within their so-called industry: entitled, volatile, wealthy. Though the first two weren’t great, Sam had only cared about that last one. It wasn’t as if there had been a whole pool of millionaires for them to pick from, and so Rafe’s willingness to fund their excursion with a seemingly nonexhaustive source of cash provided the brothers with their first genuine opportunity at finding the treasure for once and for all.

In the beginning, Sam had thought that maybe his reputation had been hyperbolic, finding Rafe to be as normal as a person could be in their line of work. Nathan had taken an immediate dislike to him but Sam had assumed that it was maybe just a younger brother’s jealousy at bringing a stranger into their midst, which considering that Nathan was the one who brought in the old man Sullivan, he didn’t have a leg to stand on. But then Sam had started to see the signs, just little flickers that belied something deeper, something darker, something that wasn’t quite right.

The path to Avery’s treasure had been the last thing that their mother had worked on and the brothers’ search for it made them feel closer to her; they shared her love for adventure, the thrill that came with unwinding the vines of times and discovering what secrets lay hidden there. Plus, y’know, they were poor and needed the money.

With Rafe it was different. He clearly didn’t need the money, so Sam had assumed that it was glory the man was after, just another feather in his family’s cap. But as the search went on, it became clear that there was something more to Rafe’s motivations, though Sam struggled to put his finger on it. In his mind, Rafe had everything a person could ever ask for, he had never had to want for anything. The Avery treasure would be a hefty sum for sure but Rafe didn’t seem to even consider that, caring only about finding it, about being the _first._

It would seem that that desire had never left him, the depths of his obsession for the treasure growing in tandem with the size of his fortune. While Sam had been rotting away in a Panamanian prison, Rafe had moved on from hiring wayward thieves, securing instead the services of a mercenary army called Shoreline. Sam had seen them and their equipment on the drive up to Rafe’s estate, littered around the grounds like a child’s toys ready to be picked up and put down on a whim. The fact that Rafe had chosen to bring in soldiers instead of fellow treasure hunters revealed a lot about where the man’s head was at.

The trip to Scotland had been a long, silent one. Questions had cluttered Sam’s tongue but he wasn’t sure he wanted Rafe to be the one to give him the answers he so desperately craved and so he had kept quiet, never allowing himself to drift off in fear he would wake up in a prison cell. He didn’t want to be in Rafe’s company but even that was better than being stuck in a prison for nearly half his life.

They had arrived late in the evening and so Rafe had made one of his staff take Sam to his room, declaring that they would head over to the cathedral the next day. Without being provided context to know exactly what he meant, Sam had just nodded, patiently waiting for the crumbs to be dropped so he could pick them up and start to piece the picture together himself. Deciding to make the most of Rafe’s apparent hospitality, Sam jumped into the shower in his en suite, relishing in being able to stand under the water for as long as he wanted without an audience or the threat of being shanked. The heat soaked through his skin and into his muscles, relieving some of the tension that had been burdening him for as long as he could remember. It was a small but significant shard of freedom.

The bed on the other hand was too… much. It was too soft. When he was younger, he’d loved the rare occasions that he got to sleep on a soft mattress, enjoying the way it felt like sleeping on a cloud, but now it just felt uncomfortable. He had thought that his body would appreciate not having to sleep on a cold floor or the straw and metal abomination the prison had called a bed, but instead it just felt wrong. Like it was an illusion, a pretense he had given himself over to, and any second he would be rudely awakened into the reality that he was Samuel Drake, and Samuel Drake didn’t get to sleep on soft, Egyptian-cotton, applique, whatever thread count sheets.

After a sleepless night, breakfast was a rushed affair of coffee and some pastries the staff had left on the counter for them. Rafe barely said a word to Sam, preoccupied with talking to some woman called Nadine on the phone, stopping only long enough to snap his fingers at Sam when it was time for them to leave. They were driven by a bulky man in a uniform, a machine gun placed almost comically in the passenger seat.

Though the cathedral was barely fifteen minutes away, it proved difficult even for the mercenary to navigate the terrain in the drive up to the building, much of the road having fallen into disrepair. However, it gave Sam time to study his surroundings, taking in as much as he could. The Saint Dismas Cathedral was perched on the rough cliffs of the highlands, the land around it a sprawling expanse that already bore the haphazard pockmarks of Shoreline’s handywork. Sam shook his head at the sight of the explosives. No wonder Rafe needed him, these amateurs had probably blown up half the clues already.

It was only when they had climbed up to the most sound part of the building where Rafe had made his base that Sam was given a deeper explanation of what was expected from him. Sam listened with an expression he had learned through years of playing poker with criminals, allowing Rafe to delve into an atticism of grandeur, speaking of destiny, of glory, of greatness, a speech that would have probably inspired Sam to join Rafe’s cause of his own volition if he hadn’t already been manipulated into doing so.

While Rafe lost himself in his own monologue, Sam appraised the situation he found himself in. Rafe had parted with a hell of a lot of cash in order to bust Sam from the prison because despite being convinced that the secrets of Avery’s treasure were somewhere within or around the cathedral, he had yet to discover anything more than an infuriating plethora of dead ends. Rafe’s new target was the second Saint Dismas cross, something he expected Sam to locate for him using his knowledge on the subject - of course, the fact that Sam had been out of the game for thirteen years (no thanks to Rafe himself) was a disadvantage Rafe was not willing to take into consideration. Find it, was the order. There was no second option.

After that first day of essentially acquainting himself with the layout of the land and the men Rafe had assigned to the area, they retired back to Rafe’s manor just as the sun was beginning to set. The Scottish summer was drawing to a lazy close, the chill of winter already beginning to creep down from the snow-dappled mountains. Soon the short days would be working against them.

But for now, Rafe seemed uncharacteristically content. He ordered Sam to join him in a lavish drawing room, gesturing to a set of armchairs by the fire whilst he poured a dram of Scotch whisky for them both. Sam glanced around the room while he waited, seeing the stag heads on the wall, the pile of logs, the expensive trinkets in the glass cabinets, the table covered in papers and maps. He was struck by the monachopsistic sense that he had been transported into some other world without knowing how he got there or, more importantly, how to get out.

“Where’s Nathan?” he found himself asking before he had even realised he was forming the words. There was an abrupt clink of glass as if Rafe had flinched and when Sam looked over at him, he saw how he had stilled. After a long, thick pause, Rafe gave a harsh chuckle and turned, sitting in the heavy set armchair across from Sam with the grace of a King taking his throne. When he spoke, his voice grated like ice.

“I hate to be the one to inform you that your _beloved_ baby brother checked out, Sammy my boy. He turned his back on us a long time ago.”

_Us._ How comfortably Rafe allied them both against Nathan, swirling his drink in a show of nonchalance. Sam stared, unaware that his fingers were digging like claws into the fabric of the chair. When he got no response, Rafe continued, the glow of the fire throwing harsh shadows across the planes of his face.

“When we contacted the prison, they told us that you had… passed. I wanted to keep looking into it but Nathan… well, he said that he knew that you were gone and he didn’t want to hang around anymore. The last I heard, he’d settled down with some two-bit journalist, living the domestic life. He gave up, Sam. He gave up on Avery, he gave up on me, and he gave up on _you_.”

It was as if the world had been drained of colour. The fire was warm but Sam felt as if he had been dropped into ice water, his eyes unseeing, Rafe’s words rubbing like salt in the wounds he had collected like stories, telling the tale of a man who had committed himself to a person who no longer wanted him, no longer needed him. What was Sam without Nathan? What was a brother without a brother? Nothing, he was nothing. Nathan had moved on, had found himself a new family, and Sam was just the one left behind, a dead man, a ghost that haunted the ruins of a world that had kept on spinning without him.

“The Nathan Drake you remember is gone,” said Rafe as the fire burned low, satisfied with the look on Sam’s face, pleased to have felled him so quickly. “I am the only one left, now. Just remember that it wasn’t your brother who found you, it was me. It wasn’t Nathan you saved you. It was _me_.”

Eventually Sam would come to understand that no, Rafe hadn’t saved him, not at all - but by then, it would already be too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We never really got to see the proper reunion between Sam and Nathan after Libertalia which left me feeling a bit robbed of brotherly angst, I'm not gonna lie. I wanted to see those conversations in which Sam explains himself about why he chose to let Nathan believe he was dead for two more years than necessary and then lied to him about why they needed to find the treasure. I felt that there had to be a lot going on psychologically for Sam in order for him to make those decisions, and it's that mindset that I explore in this chapter, as well as his dynamic with Rafe. 
> 
> On that note, this story will mostly be set in the two years before Sam meets up with Nate, though it will progress into their little jaunt into Libertalia and beyond. I pinky promise that I will be introducing the OC in the next chapter! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, you uncharted angels <3
> 
> The chapter title is by the amazing and inspiring RID aka inkskinned.


	3. your pact with him will not save you

Sam wasn’t exactly treated like a prisoner, more like a wild dog that had been lured into the house with the promise of a kinder master than the one it had known. The rule that he could not leave was an unspoken one, reinforced by the mercenaries that shadowed his every move, though in truth Sam had yet to call Rafe’s bluff. He didn’t have the means to make a break for it - the area was still too unfamiliar to him, he wasn’t allowed a weapon and thanks to being declared legally dead, he didn’t have a penny to his name. There was just no way for him to leave.

Bullshit. He was Sam fucking Drake, if he wanted to leave, he would. He was just scared of what would be waiting for him on the outside if he did. Was there a world for him to go back to?

He did the job that Rafe wanted him to. He scoured all the books Rafe had collected over the years, searching for any hints or clues he could find; he studied the few artefacts that Shoreline found intact and the many more they found in pieces; he reread the stories, relearned the history, focusing himself entirely and completely on finding anything that could lead them to Avery.

It was while doing this that Sam quickly came to the conclusion that the reason it took Rafe thirteen years to bother pulling him from the prison - he didn’t doubt that it could have been done a lot sooner - was because it took that long for his desperation to outweigh his pride. Rafe wasn’t a man who asked for help easily and when he did, he made sure that he was still the one who held the power regardless. Sam was under no illusion that the reason why Rafe had turned to him instead of his brother was because out of the two of them, Sam was the easier one to control. From what he could infer, Nathan had very few strings on which Rafe could tug, but Sam? Sam was the perfect puppet and Rafe had no qualms in making him dance.

Another small mercy, Sam supposed. The idea of his baby brother being kept under Rafe’s thumb with these trigger happy mercenaries around him made Sam’s fists clench. If it had to be one of them, he was glad it was him. It was another excuse, of course, but it didn’t make it any less true.

And so, Sam tolerated the leash around his neck. He filled his head with as much information about Avery and pirates and treasure as he could, hoping that there would be little room for anything else. Though no matter how hard he tried, the nightmares still came and he would wake in the early hours of the morning, panting and drenched in sweat as he grappled with the images that were burned into the back of his eyes. He saw his mother die; he took punches from guards, his father, from thugs on the street; he chased after Nathan again and again and again but he could never catch him.

One night, after a particularly vivid nightmare from the prison, Sam was reluctant to go back to sleep so he went down into the kitchen for a drink. The house was cloaked in darkness and there was no one around as he traipsed into the large room, scrubbing his face with his hands as he made his way to the fridge. It was only after he had picked out a beer - water just wouldn’t cut it - and turned back around that he realised he was not alone.

Sitting at the counter was a woman watching him from over the screen of her laptop, the glow from which cast her face in an odd light. It took all of Sam’s willpower not to jump out of his skin at the sight of her, the bottle almost slipping from his hand.

“Evenin’,” he said after collecting himself, seeing the woman’s lips quirk up at the corner.

“Evening,” she replied, voice accented.

“I’m Sam, Sam Drake,” he introduced, watching as she tilted her head to the side, unabashedly appraising him from head to toe. Plenty of women had sized him up in the past but her gaze was more critical than he was used to.

“I know,” she replied, before adding, “Ava Quinn.” Sam nodded though her name meant nothing to him and seeing this, she clarified. “I came up with my brother yesterday, we’re here to help with Rafe’s little _treasure hunt._ ” Her tone spoke volumes about what she thought of their activities but he wasn’t offended, merely intrigued.

“Is that a London accent I hear?” he asked lightly, moving to take a seat opposite her on the counter. She smiled and gave a light shrug, her eyes never leaving him. “Hmm, thought so. What help are you here to provide my dear friend Rafe?” He didn’t even bother to hide his sarcasm in the last words and Ava smiled wider, amused.

“I’m your tech guy, so to speak.”

Sam was genuinely surprised. “Do we need a tech guy?”

“Rafe seems to think you do.” Sam shrugged then nodded, not having considered the necessity for IT support but he supposed they would need all the help they could get, no matter the source. He took a slug of beer, using the pause in conversation to study the woman. It was hard to tell in the low light but he could just about make out that she seemed young, with long dark hair and smudged mascara under her eyes as if she had been rubbing at them.

“So, what about your brother?” he asked, not keen on returning to bed just yet. Luckily, Ava gave no indication that she wanted to end the conversation despite the late hour. Something flashed across her face, too quick for Sam to catch in the dark, and she straightened in her seat.

“Jackson, well, apparently he and Rafe go way back.”

“What does your brother do?”

“Err,” Ava looked up, contemplating, and Sam smiled, endeared at the way she wrinkled her nose in thought. “Rafe tells him what he wants me to do and then Jackson tells me and I do it?” She made it sound like a question.

“What, is that it? Isn’t that patronising as shit?”

Ava grinned. “Hey, it means I don’t have to interact with Rafe. That’s a win in my book.” Sam laughed, the sound loud in the empty kitchen. It was the first time he had laughed properly in months.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said and when Ava smiled at him, it was bright.

The conversation faded but the quiet that followed was peaceful, interrupted only by the tapping of Ava working away at her laptop, the sound almost melodic. Whenever he spent time with Rafe or the mercenaries, Sam felt as if there was a wire running the length of his spine that was tightening and tightening each day like a coil, his shoulders bowing from the force of it, but he felt only a sense of calm sat there with Ava. It was a relief he was desperate for and so he made no hurry to finish his beer, hoping that she didn’t feel uncomfortable with being alone with him.

“What?” Ava asked after a couple of minutes. It was only then that he realised he had been staring at her the whole time and he hurried to look away, a little embarrassed.

“Sorry, I, er, I was just thinking,” he explained, hoping he hadn’t scared her off by acting like some creep.

“Mmm, I can see that,” she said, and when he glanced back up, he thought he saw a mischievous glint in her eye.

The two of them watched each other for a few seconds and when Ava wet her lips to speak, Sam’s eyes darted down to follow the movement. Her mouth parted and Sam leant forward, wanting to hear what she was about to say, but then she abruptly turned her head to look towards the hallway. Sam followed her gaze, hearing footsteps approaching. Ava quickly closed her laptop and leapt up from her seat, running a nervous hand through her hair just as a figure appeared in the doorway.

“Getting acquainted, sister?” Jackson, Sam presumed from the similar accent though his was sharper, more precise.

“Just finalising the report Rafe asked for,” Ava hurried to explain, sliding the laptop under her arm. Sam watched the encounter, bemused. He couldn’t see the man’s face but he felt when his eyes turned to him.

“Drake, I take it?” Sam nodded, finishing his beer. “Pleasure. Now, come on sister, let’s leave the man to his business.” Sam half expected Jackson to snap his fingers as he called his sister to heel and he was immediately irritated. Ava obeyed without question, only pausing long enough to throw a glance over her shoulder as she followed Jackson out.

Strange, Sam thought as he threw his bottle into the trash before following the way the siblings went. He turned the corner to where his bedroom was just in time to see the door at the far end of the corridor close. He paused to see if he could hear anything but there was only silence so he headed back to bed, hoping that the gentle buzz of alcohol and the pull of exhaustion would be enough to send him into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

For the next couple of weeks, Sam didn’t have the chance to speak to Ava again. He spent most of his time at the cathedral or working with Rafe whereas she seemed confined to the study that had been set up at the manor for her to work in. She was rarely present at the meetings Rafe would occasionally hold, her brother acting as the spokesperson for all things tech related. Rafe seemed to appreciate the man’s presence though Sam still had yet to figure out just what Jackson actually contributed to the search because he didn’t seem to know anything about IT himself, merely parroting whatever Ava had told him to say.

Sam wasn’t the only one to notice. Nadine Ross, who often attended the meetings when she wasn’t out on site with her mercenaries, questioned the man relentlessly when it became apparent he wasn’t the one with the useful skill.

“Why can’t we talk to the girl directly if she’s the one actually doing the work?” she asked Rafe, ignoring the angry colour on Jackson’s face, but Rafe just batted away the question before proceeding to supply Jackson with a list of businesses and organisations he wanted Ava to hack into in order to see if there was any indication that they had the Saint Dismas cross in their possession.

It was a lead that Sam had been pressing Rafe to follow for the past few days as it had become abundantly clear that the cross was not lying around the cathedral. It was possible that it had been found by other treasure hunters in some other location and so the best place to find an artefact like that would be at an auction. Though they would continue their search for anything and everything, the cross had to be their priority: the hope was that they would find it intact and whatever was inside would lead them to the treasure.

And Sam had to find that treasure. He had to. If he found the treasure, Nathan would have a reason to let Sam back into his life, he would have a reason to forgive him. Sam would have a purpose again, and so he let the search consume him. Everything else came second to the treasure.

It was an attitude shared by Rafe but in a very different sort of way. As the weeks progressed, Rafe’s contentment twisted into a capriciousness that had everyone on edge. Nadine and Sam bore the brunt of his ire but even that did nothing to bring them together. The Shoreliner boss treated him and everyone else with a healthy pinch of distrust and distaste, though Rafe interacted with her in an almost intimate manner. Sam couldn’t decide if they were sleeping together or if Rafe was just an arrogant sleaze.

The only one who kept out of the way was Ava, and though Rafe often lost his temper whenever Jackson reported that his sister had been unable to find what he wanted, her absence meant that she never had to put up with it face to face, something Sam was grateful for. If Sam didn’t know that he could knock the rich kid on his ass with one punch, he would probably find Rafe’s rages much more alarming and he didn’t like the idea of Ava having that anger and intensity directed at her.

Sam was thinking this just as he rounded a corner in the manor, hoping to change from his clothes after sliding down a muddy hill back at the cathedral earlier in the day, when he ran into the woman herself. She’d been looking the other way when he crashed into her, sending both her and that ever present laptop in her hands flying. Ava gave a startled noise as she staggered to the left and Sam hurried to grab her arm with one hand to steady her, using his other to snatch up her laptop before it could hit the floor.  

“Fuck! Shit, sorry, are you okay?” he exclaimed. Ava looked flustered as she used his grip to right herself but when she saw who held her, she relaxed.

“Oh, Sam! It’s okay, it was my fault, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Thanks for saving my laptop, that was some quick reflexes there!” she said a little teasingly, and Sam smiled. This was the first time since their chat in the kitchen that he had been this close to her and thanks to the light, he could now make out more than just the lines of her features. She was taller than he expected but still shorter than him which was no surprise as most people were; her frame was overly slender in a way that didn’t quite suit her as if it was by nurture not nature. He’d already noted her long, deep brown hair which was nearly always in a high ponytail, but now he could see the light olive tone of her skin and her vivid green eyes.

Ava tugged gently on her arm and Sam became aware that he was still holding it and her laptop. He let go with a sheepish smile, ducking his head a little. “I was staring again, wasn’t I?” he asked and she laughed, unconcerned.

“It’s okay,” she said, “I don’t mind.” There was something… coy in how she looked away then back up at Sam, making him forget what he was about to say. He held her gaze for long moment before he cleared his throat and stepped away, feeling a little warm.

Sensing the shift, Ava took her laptop and with another chirpy thank you, she continued on her way, her ponytail swinging behind her. When Sam felt disappointment because she didn’t look back at him before she disappeared around the corner, he quickly shook his head to dislodge the thought. It was a good thing he had been heading to the showers since he clearly needed to cool the fuck off. Staring after a girl probably half his age, what was he thinking?

He was old now, the last remaining years of his youth left to rot in the dank corners of a Panama prison. He would be forty soon which was a baffling thought. He had been in his prime when he had first gone into the prison and sometimes he forgot that he wasn’t that same man anymore _._ Well, he was going to have remember pretty quickly unless he wanted to turn into some creepy old man that stared after young women.

As he stripped and stepped into the shower, rubbing at the mud that had dried onto his skin, a little voice popped up in his head, wondering how old Ava was. He cast aside the query with a snarl. It didn’t matter. He was too old and anyway, he had plenty of other things to be worrying about.

Right? Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from The Masque of the Red Death. 
> 
> Couple things! First, you may have noticed I've shaved a year or two off Sam's age here. Going by the UC wiki which ages Nate at 37 at the end of UC4, canonically that would make Sam 40 when he was first released from the prison. I've made him 38/39 here, for reasons. If you want to imagine him older, be my guest!
> 
> I'm just gonna address some comments I got on ff.net as you guys might have the same queries. They mentioned that Shoreline wasn't involved with Rafe until after the two years but I'm a massive Nadine fangirl so I wanted her in this story, regardless of timeline. I love her, so soz. Next, they mentioned (by implying that I hadn't played the games, which I have but whatevs) that Cassandra obviously had more going on that just the Avery treasure which is true! However, this fic is about exploring Sam's psyche in those two years and using the justification of 'honouring' his mother's 'final wish' is just another way that this trashcan of a man would have rationalised his behaviour - we can clearly see that he was fixated on getting Avery's treasure in UC4 and I want to discuss why! So welcome to my TED Talk.
> 
> P.S. I keep typing Rafe's name as Rage. Coincidence? I think not.


	4. i'm worse than empty, i'm overfull

 

The first time Ava met Samuel Drake, he was a silhouette in the doorway. Ava assumed from the height and breadth of his shadow that it was just a mercenary stationed inside the manor, and she watched unmoving and unnoticed as he lumbered into the kitchen, shoulders bowed as if by some unseen burden. But when he opened the fridge, muttering something about shitty beer, his face was illuminated by the artificial light and Ava realised that he was actually the other American on the team, the one listed as the domain expert.

Rafe had told her brother to be wary of the man, said that he was a dangerous and wildly unpredictable criminal that should be avoided where possible. Those were powerful descriptors, Ava thought, ones that didn’t quite add up to the dumbstruck expression on the man’s face when he turned around, beer in hand, to find Ava staring back at him. His slack mouth and wide eyes made him look sweetly innocent despite his size, and Ava was unable to hide her amusement as he hurried to regain his composure.

The conversation that followed was pleasant but Ava could hardly recall what’d been said. Instead, what she remembered was the way Sam watched her, his eyes somehow managing to glint despite the low light, and something warm had unfurled in the pit of her belly. Perhaps it was the witching hour, a time in between time, but Ava felt caught up in the unexpected magic of the moment. Words she wouldn’t normally speak collected behind her lips as she sat faced with the shadow of a stranger and she saw how Sam leaned in towards her, grip too tight on the glass bottle, and they both seemed as bewildered and entranced as each other.

The sound of familiar footsteps echoing in the hallway was the ripping open of the confessional curtain and Ava jumped to her feet, holding her laptop against her chest as if it would hide the thunderous beat of her heart. Her brother was the cruel but perfect reminder of who she was, so easily crushing her girlish folly like a flower beneath his expensive shoes. When she risked a glance over her shoulder as they left, Ava couldn’t work out Sam’s expression but thought that was perhaps a small mercy.

Jackson’s hold on her arm as he hurried them along the corridor was tight enough that Ava pulled against it, getting only an irritated tut in response. The air about them crackled and Ava tried to guess what she had done to anger him this time.

“I told you to stay here,” he snapped at her once they were in his assigned room, the door closed behind them.

“No, you told me to finish the report,” she replied in a monotone.

Jackson sighed, the stress showing on his face. “Ava, I need you to do what you’re told while we’re here, okay? Rafe is paying us a lot of money to be here and I can’t have you fucking that up.”

 _He’s paying_ you _a lot of money,_ Ava thought with only a hint of petulance. Her brother had an unfortunate habit of sticky fingers whenever they did a job together, though he had insisted that Rafe foot the bill for any new equipment or software Ava would require to get her work done which was a relief since that stuff didn’t come cheap.

It was early days but Ava still didn’t entirely understand what Rafe expected from her which she felt was because he himself didn’t know what he wanted. She had only met him once but that was enough time to ascertain that he was a very unsettling person. When Rafe had spoken about his ‘quest’ there had been an intensity about him that bordered on maniacal, and Ava had decided on the spot that she would do whatever she could to stay out of his way. Jackson seemed to worship the ground the man walked on - life goals, no doubt - and so he could deal with him going forward.

The history between her brother and Rafe sounded shady as fuck and Ava hadn’t been interested in learning anything more than the sparse tidbits Jackson had give her. Both of them were boys eagerly following in the footsteps of their fathers, wading into the murky waters of the black market in search of the parental validation they so desperately craved, so it wasn’t a huge stretch of the imagination to guess how they had met. Rafe traded antiquities, Jackson traded secrets, the only difference was that Adlers were stinking rich, whereas the Quinns were better at spending money than they were making it.

Ava had never intended to pitch in with her family’s schemes but when it became apparent that Jackson was unable to keep up with their father’s demands, she’d taken pity on the dickhead and decided to help him out. It had only supposed to be one job at first but being able to break into a company’s server and accounts had proved to be a valuable skill and so here she was, way too many jobs later.

It was a talent she had learned, ironically, at school. Ava had a quick mind that jumped from idea to idea like a child ripping up daisies and so it took a lot for something to retain her interest. When she had been caught circumventing the school’s network security out of pure boredom, her ICT teacher had decided to give her personal tutoring outside of school hours in an attempt to give her focus, teaching her about computing, programming and coding. Ava had enjoyed the lessons though now she looked back on them with a touch of guilt: she was pretty sure that Mrs Woodrow hadn’t anticipated that Ava would use her teachings in order to break the law but hey, a girl’s gotta eat.

“Ava!” Jackson barked, breaking her reverie.

“Yes, fine, I’ll be good,” Ava said impatiently, and Jackson gave a satisfied nod before showing her his back in dismissal. Rolling her eyes, Ava headed into her own room next door, glad to be able to shut the door behind her in a shallow semblance of privacy. She sat her laptop on the side table and got changed, climbing into bed with a sigh. God, it was so comfortable.

Her brother must have done the same thing for it wasn’t long before a heavy hush descended upon the manor, the darkness like ink as Ava blinked through it. She was exhausted from the long drive up from London and yet she couldn’t stop thinking about the enigma she’d encountered in the kitchen, a silhouette of a stranger she felt drawn to as if he had the threads to her body wrapped around his wrist, able to pull her close with one tug.

It was a foreign feeling and she was as much alarmed as she was intrigued. It wasn’t like her at all to have such an instinctive reaction to a person and she was sure that if she continued on down this road, she’d find only trouble at the end. Nothing good could come from a man who had looked at her with eyes like scripture.

It would be morning soon and there was a lot of work to get done. She was here to do a job - she couldn’t risk angering her brother or Rafe by letting herself get distracted by some guy she had literally only spoken to once. So, taking a deep breath, Ava closed her eyes and let herself drift off to sleep.

And if she dreamed of a man made of rough touches and cigarette smoke, well, who would know?

Over the next few weeks, Ava stayed at the manor while the others would busy themselves with running around that damn cathedral, usually coming back covered in dust and dirt and disappointment. The only exception was her brother who spent nearly all of his time on the phone, even leaving for a day or two to meet with someone on Rafe’s orders. This meant that Ava was often left alone, something that she enjoyed profusely.

It also meant that she was able to observe from a distance the strange dynamic between Rafe and Sam Drake. Their interactions were slick with barely concealed antipathy and yet there was also a spark of camaraderie borne from a shared passion for the treasure they were so obsessively looking for. While Jackson and the final member of the team, Nadine, were only concerned with the financial worth of the treasure, the two Americans appeared to value the gold beyond the money it would make them. To them, the treasure seemed to represent something… _more_.

The way Sam would speak about the whole thing was near enough poetic. Ava could listen to Sam regale her with tales of pirates and treasure and lost cities in that deep voice of his for hours on end, and she would find herself gazing at him whenever they happened to be in the same place - which was far too rare. It was mostly just glimpses of him at breakfast or hearing him talk to Rafe in another room and she wanted more, she wanted so much more.

Her wish was somewhat granted when he ran into her in the hallway, literally. His calloused hand on her arm had stopped her from flying into the wall and the warmth of his touch had been enough to make her pulse quicken and a smile break out across her face. He was tall, so much so that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes despite being relatively tall herself. From the strength that he wore like a shield, to the scars on his knuckles and the birds on his neck, this was a man who dreamed of freedom but knew not to expect it.

He was staring again. Eyes of hazel, like sunlight shining through whisky, piercing through her in a way that left her breathless, hungry, wild. When he had pulled back, smiling that same sheepish smile as before, Ava had used his hesitation like a balm on the heat he invoked within her, glossing him with a bright smile as she hurried away. Whatever he had seen in her face had made him pause and she wasn’t sure whether she was disappointed or relieved.  

The feelings he was stirring within her in such a short space of time were more powerful than what she had felt before, and Ava knew that the wise thing to do would be to get as far away from Samuel Drake as possible.

But when she found him alone on the balcony nearly two weeks later, his battered lighter heavy in her hand, she knew she couldn’t walk away.

* * *

The year was beginning to curdle, winter winds coming in fast from the sea, but today had dawned with an unexpected warmth. The sun rose bold between the clouds and Sam stood below it with eyes closed so he let it soak in. He was out on the balcony at the manor, resting against the railing as he breathed in deep the crisp Scottish air. He imagined the salt burrowing into his lungs, his bones, his blood, purging him on the sins that nestled there like parasites he had invited in.

But when he breathed out, the sins were still there. Done with fresh air, Sam fished out his cigarettes, placing one between his lips as he patted himself down in search for his lighter.  “Shit,” he cursed, digging through his pockets only to come out empty handed. Had he dropped it? He turned, eyes on the floor, feeling irrationally panicked.

Just as he was about to get on his hands and knees to comb the ground, he became aware of a presence at his side just as the cigarette was plucked from his mouth. Sam jerked his head up in surprise to see Ava there, the cigarette now between her lips as she lit it using his own lighter. After taking a deep drag, she gave him back the cigarette with a cheeky smile.

“Thanks,” he said, pocketing his lighter as she gestured back inside the house.

“I found it in the hallway, figured I would find you out here.”

“Lookin’ for me?” he asked, voice dripping into a drawl and he was secretly pleased to see a faint blush on Ava’s cheeks as she gave a half shrug.

“You’re the only one that talks to me,” she said quietly, moving to stand next to him at the railing. Her hair was loose for the first time and Sam watched how the wind wove within it. She painted a sombre profile and though she was standing close, she seemed so far away. Before he had even realised what he was doing, Sam reached up and gently brushed back some stray strands that had caught on the scroll of her mouth. When Ava flinched a little from his touch, he dropped his hand though he didn’t move away.

“Hey,” he said quietly, and after a moment, Ava looked at him. For a fleeting second, her expression was painfully vulnerable but then she tilted her chin up and her eyes hardened in challenge, and Sam knew that this girl wasn’t porcelain but steel.

“Hey,” she breathed, and there was something there, something Sam couldn’t name but was suddenly desperate to hold on to.

Though they hadn’t spoken since the corridor, Sam had seen Ava around more frequently, sometimes by chance but usually on purpose. Once he had happen to learn what time she would have breakfast, he had gotten into the habit of getting to the kitchen at around the same time. Though, her brother was usually there which made it difficult to initiate a conversation; the guy seemed to circle Ava like a vulture. Sam assumed that Jackson was just being protective even if he didn’t quite understand the way in which the two siblings interacted.

Still, it was nice to even just see Ava before he headed off to the cathedral with Rafe, a routine that was weighing heavier and heavier on him each day. Rafe had taken to lashing out when he didn’t get his way, which seeing as how they had so far discovered sweet fuck all, was pretty much every day. Whatever Sam said just seemed to piss Rafe off even more but Nadine had somehow figured out a way to keep the guy from having a full breakdown through an impressive mix of rationality and undeniable leadership. Sam didn’t like the woman but damn, she knew how to handle a crazy man. Not surprising considering the type of men that she employed.

Their lack of success in the search was a rough tide constantly wearing against Sam’s resolve. He woke up in a panic nearly every night, breathing hard, sick with the sense that everything he knew, everything he _was,_ was falling away no matter how hard he tried. Nathan was out there and he believed that Sam was dead, and here Sam was, almost wishing he was. It was the worst kind of blasphemy and the justification that Sam had built around him like a fort was crumbling fast with every passing, empty month. They had found nothing and so there was nothing to excuse this kind of betrayal.

The only time that these thoughts quietened was when Ava was around. Everywhere was noise: at the cathedral, at the manor, in his head. But with Ava all that seemed to fade into the background. Sam reminded himself that romanticising a woman he didn’t even know was outrageous, hell, it was dangerous, but here she was, that lovely face upturned to his and Sam couldn’t walk away.

“Why aren’t you at the cathedral?” Ava asked as Sam turned back to look out over the horizon.

“I need to redraw the search locations,” he said, taking a deep inhale of his cigarette. He felt like he was running towards a goal that never seemed to get any closer and fuck, he was so tired.

“What is it that you’re looking for?” asked Ava and Sam shifted on his feet.

“Avery’s treasure,” he replied after a beat and Ava gave a quiet huff of laughter as if he had misunderstood a simple question.

“Why?”

Sam shifted again, uncomfortable. “It’s a lot of money?”

“Is that an answer or a question?”

“A bit of both,” Sam said, voice quiet. This seemed to appease Ava a bit, as if he had just shown his hand but rather than feel exposed, Sam felt strangely reassured.

Maybe… maybe she would understand? She was a sibling, she’d get it. Except, no, she was the younger sibling and in Sam’s head that meant she was to be protected. He wondered whether Jackson felt about his sister the way Sam felt about Nathan. How could he not? It was Sam’s duty in life, it was sole purpose, the only reason for breathing that he keep his brother alive and safe. Surely Jackson felt the same.

There was another long pause, long enough that Sam had finished his cigarette and was on to his second when Ava asked a question that felt like a punch to the gut.

“You’re here against your will, aren’t you?”

Was it written that clearly across his face? Sam thought he had more pride than that.

“What makes you say that?” Sam asked back, voice gruff.

“Hmm,” Ava hummed, thinking. “I’ve spun a narrative in my head. I do that sometimes, I’m sorry. But I think you’re looking for something. No, not the treasure,” she added when Sam went to interrupt. “Something else, something more. Something you love. But for whatever reason you can’t have it. Maybe Rafe doesn’t want you to have it, but he wants the treasure and you’re the one that can find it. So, unable to leave, you’ve settled. Settled for a different kind of treasure.”

She spoke like she smiled: with clarity. Bright, fragmented, thoughtful. Unexpectedly sharp.

Sam wrestled with his words, unsure what kind of response would or would not validate such a bitterly accurate accusation. “You been watchin’ me that closely, huh?” he growled and Ava lifted a shoulder.

“Almost as closely as you’ve been watching me,” she said and Sam straightened, turning fully to face her. Ava copied the movement and they were close enough now that he could feel the heat of her body. It would take the smallest step for them to touch, to join, and he could see now that she was playing with him, that mischievous look burning in eyes of sea green. With the wind in her hair and that look in her eye, that gentle curve of her neck, the full lips, she was like an illustration drawn from the memory of a beholder caught in that sweetest stage of love where there are no flaws to be seen.

Sam could feel himself react to the sight of her but this time he didn’t try to fight it. Perhaps he was just a glutton for punishment, punishment he knew he deserved for failing everybody in his life including the one person he could not fail. Punishment for being so desperate to feel something, _anything_ other than the chokehold of guilt he couldn’t shake loose that he would drag this young woman into his pathetic life.

Or maybe, Sam thought as he closed the gap between them, his hand on Ava’s nape as he leaned down to kiss her, maybe this wasn’t punishment at all, but mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter quote written by RID aka inkskinned. 
> 
> I promise that there will actually be a plot... eventually.


	5. what would you say if you knew the truth couldn’t hurt you?

**** Samuel Drake was a man of contradictions. He was still only a stranger to Ava, their time together little more than a handful of stolen moments shared in passing, and yet he had already broken so many rules - rules that underpinned her very understanding of the world. He had the look of a man that Ava had learned over the years to avoid, his roughness and strength weapons that could be wielded against her, but when his calloused hand gripped the back of her neck, Ava felt no fear. 

Sam had the power to take and yet his touch was gentle, his kiss hesitantly chaste so that she knew without words that the control of the situation was wholly hers. Ava wasn’t sure whether it was because he had sensed her nervousness or whether that was just the type of person he was, but she was grateful for it regardless.

Sam’s kiss was a question and Ava responded with an open hunger that burned through her like a summer storm. Rising up onto her tiptoes - damn, he was so tall - she deepened the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck to hold herself closer. Sam supported her by pressing his other hand against the small of her back where her shirt had ridden up so that his fingers were brushing against her bare skin. Before she could stop herself, Ava gave a little moan at the contact and she blushed as felt Sam smile into the kiss.

“I like that sound,” he murmured against her lips and Ava thought that surely he could hear how loudly her heart was beating in her chest, echoing like thunder. Her lack of restraint was dizzying but she had held her emotions back for so long, locking them tight behind the dam she had built brick by brick over the years. 

Ava had believed her walls impenetrable but it had only taken the right kind of pressure to send them crashing down with a force that left her breathless, casting her adrift on the ocean tide that was this man who held her now, gazing upon her with eyes the colour of shipwreck gold. If things had been different, if she had been different, Ava might have been wondering whether this was what love felt like, but she knew better. This wasn’t love, this was saltwater. This was a siren song luring her into sea deep salvation. This was choosing to drown over dying of thirst - and oh, how sweet an end it was. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Sam told her, his low voice a rumble that sent a shiver down Ava’s spine. He didn’t explain what he meant but he didn’t have to. When Ava didn’t respond, he added, “It’s only going to get worse.”

“I know, but there is nowhere else for me to go. My brother is here,” she said, as if that should have been reason enough, but Sam didn’t look convinced. It wasn’t difficult to understand why: his interactions with Jackson were strained to say the least.

From the moment they had arrived, Jackson had made it his business to establish himself as Rafe’s right hand man, and though it might seem strange to say, Sam was his biggest threat. Jackson had many flaws but he wasn’t an idiot, he knew that despite the way in which Rafe treated Sam there was a toxic yet tenacious bond between the pair that was difficult for Jackson to navigate. It was okay for Rafe to be as cruel to Sam as he wanted but if Jackson or anyone else were to take it upon themselves to follow in his footsteps without his permission, he would see red. Jackson had complained to Ava that it was like working for a man who would kick his dog all day but would slit the throat of another for doing the same. He said that maybe it was love. Ava thought that was just another word for control. 

“What about you?” she asked, throwing the question back at him, though she smiled to soften the blow. “You shouldn’t be here either.” 

Sam scoffed and just like that, his easy confidence vanished as he stared blankly over her shoulder. “There is nowhere else I deserve to be,” he said, his tone so saturated with vitriol that Ava was amazed he didn’t choke on it. 

“Hey,” she chided, letting one of her hands slip from his neck to his chest where she could feel his strong heartbeat beneath her palm. “Look, neither one of us should be here but we’re here anyway. At least… at least we’re here together.” 

Ava cringed at the corniness of her own words but they did the trick of pulling Sam from whatever dark place he had drifted into as he gave a slow grin.

“Mmm, you’re right,” he agreed, licking his lips before dipping his head to capture Ava’s mouth with a kiss that had her seeing stars. 

It was deeper, more aggressive than before, his tongue hot in her mouth, his teeth grazing against her bottom lip. Without breaking the kiss, Sam picked Ava up in one effortless motion and sat her on the balustrade. Ava didn’t hesitate to wrap her legs around his waist and Sam groaned as they were pressed together, close enough that Ava could feel every inch of him. Heat pooled between her legs as she tipped her head back, intoxicated by the knowledge that Sam wanted her as much as she wanted him. 

Sam began to kiss down her throat and neck, tonguing at the sensitive skin over her pulse and Ava let out a whimper, unused to the almost violent reaction of her body. Her fingers pulled at Sam’s hair as she tilted up her hips, searching for the delicious friction that had her gasping for air. 

“Sam,” she panted and he responded by growling her name, holding onto her so tightly that she knew she would bruise and there it was, another one of her rules that Sam had broken - or rather, a rule that she was breaking for him because the pain that lust had earned her still haunted her dreams but now, here with Samuel Drake, she was desperate to wear his touch, to bear the evidence of this moment for days to come. 

Just as Ava began to reach for Sam’s shirt, wanting to feel his skin against hers, Sam froze. Ava snapped open her eyes immediately, worried that he thought she was going too fast, but she found him staring over his shoulder at the doorway that led back into the manor. It was shadowed but empty, and Ava was confused for a couple of seconds before she heard the sound of approaching footsteps accompanied by the low murmur of conversation. 

“It’s okay,” she soothed when they faded away but it took longer for Sam to turn back to her. Ava would have thought it was because he was embarrassed to be caught with her but she knew that they had to be careful, that here anything could be exploited as a weakness. 

“Look at us, afraid of being caught making out on a balcony - pretty sure there’s a play about that,” she laughed and Sam finally relaxed, smiling down at her in amusement. 

“What, teenagers with warring families?” There was a pause and Sam’s smile saddened a little, though he kept his tone light. “Except I’m definitely not a teenager anymore.”  

Ava scrunched up her nose, bemused that of all the obstacles that stood before them, age was the one Sam was stumbling on. He was older than her, she’d worked that one out quickly enough, but he wasn’t  _ old -  _ she had even overheard some of the Shoreliners grumble about how he’d made them look bad in front of Nadine by the way he had scaled the cathedral. Besides, age had nothing to do with the way Sam touched her: not like she was fragile but rather deserving of care.

“Neither am I. I might be younger than you but I’m not a kid, okay? I’m twenty four, I’m an adult, and I can make my own decisions. I’ve been with men my own age and well…” She trailed off uncomfortably, missing the way Sam’s eyes flashed as she glanced to the side before forging ahead. “I know we don’t know each other but you make me feel… safe, and that’s, well, that’s rare. That’s all that matters to me.” 

Sam brought his hand up to brush her bottom lip with his thumb, his expression speculative. Ava thought he would argue or at least respond but he stayed quiet and she decided to take the opportunity to change the subject to something a bit more lighthearted, wanting their little hidden corner to be free from the drama that lurked inside the manor. 

“So, Henry Avery?” she asked, leaning back on the balcony wall. Though still lost in thought, Sam automatically changed his hold on her so that he was gripping her hips to stop her from tumbling backwards off the balustrade, and Ava couldn’t help but smile. It was these little tells that divulged more about who Sam was as a person than any conversation ever could and if Ava had learned one thing about him on that balcony, it was that he was a protector. It was his nature, his most basic instinct, which was why Ava was all the more intrigued to know how on earth he had wound up where he was now.

When Sam didn’t even acknowledge that she’d spoken, his mind clearly elsewhere, Ava tried again. “Is it just the name Avery you have a thing for, or…?” 

“Mhmm,” he hummed before realising what she said and shooting her a confused look. “Wait, what?”

“You know,” she laughed, waiting for him to catch on but when he continued to stare at her with that dumbfounded expression, it dawned on her that he didn’t actually know. “My name? Avery? I assumed that you knew?” 

Sam frowned, still confused. “Your name? But I thought...” 

“Ava is just a nickname,” she explained, chuckling as Sam finally understood and began to grin, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What are the fuckin’ chances?” Ava gave a shrug, her glance sly.

“You think that’s cool, you should hear my mother’s maiden name.” 

Sam’s eyes narrowed as he studied Ava almost suspiciously. “Why, what it is?”

“Tew.” 

Sam leant back in shock, his jaw dropping as his grip on her waist went slack. His face lit up with a childlike excitement and Ava got a glimpse of what Sam would have looked like as a young man, when his burden was much lighter and life was still something to be enjoyed; and though it hurt her heart a little to ponder the man he once was, it endeared her to know that he was still capable of something as innocent as joy - even if she was only teasing him. 

“No, of course not, it’s McKenzie. Jesus, the look on your face! I swear I just saw you do a whole Da Vinci Code montage in your head! Avery Tew, the pirate love child, ready to storm the seas in the name of her weird ocean dads!” 

“You’re hilarious,” Sam deadpanned, thoroughly unimpressed, though he began to laugh when Ava continued to cackle, near enough crying at her own ridiculous joke. He liked the way mischief looked on her, the way it brightened her eyes, and it had been a long time since someone had made him laugh, even if it was at his expense.

“You really do like pirates though, huh?” she asked once she had calmed down and Sam shrugged. It had been a fascination of his since he was a boy, tales told by his mother as she tucked him into bed at night of famous seafarers and the beautiful ships they commanded. When the everchanging four walls of his childhood homes became too much, Sam would imagine himself on the ocean, freedom a flag waving in the wind, the air fresh and the possibilities plenty. When he grew up, he would always jump for the chance to work on the docks, just to be close to to the water. If things had been different, if he hadn’t needed to be there for Nathan, Sam probably would have joined the Navy. That was one of the two things that had tied him and Sullivan together: their love of Nathan and their love of the sea.

“They gave me something I didn’t have,” Sam answered and Ava got the impression he was choosing his words carefully, as if skating around the edge of a chasm he was afraid to fall in. The air between them changed, the humour fading, and it was out of reflex more than anything that had Ava leaning forward to stroke Sam’s hair. She wasn’t sure whether it would spook him but he languished from the attention, preening beneath her touch.

From the day she had met Sam, questions had blossomed like daisies in her mind. Some of them she had answered herself but for every one she plucked, another two grew in its place.  _ You’re looking for something,  _ she had speculated earlier. _ Something you love.  _ She should have said  _ someone.  _

The other day, Ava had come across Rafe talking to Sam in the library. She should have turned and walked away, but she had seen the way Sam had been stood staring blindly into the fireplace while Rafe gestured to him with a glass of whisky in his hand, a handgun at his hip. Though she had been unable to make out everything that was being said, Ava did hear Rafe tell Sam that his brother was gone. The words had been sharpened to wound and Sam took them like he would take a beating. 

Ava could have looked online to find her answers. She had even sat at her laptop, ready to dig up what she could about the mysterious stranger that plagued her mind. It would do him no harm for her to find out that way, it was only to satisfy her morbid curiosity. What privacy did she owe a man she didn’t know?

Except, she wanted to know him. Whatever broken shards of his life she would pilfer from the internet would pale in comparison to the real thing. It might tell her that he had birds tattooed on his neck but no amount of binary code could ever explain why he had chosen to lock them in an eternal flight going nowhere, forever seeking a freedom that could never be granted. It was the  _ why  _ that mattered and only Sam could give her that. 

“Do you want to talk about your brother?” she finally asked, her voice gentle. Those hazel eyes met hers and the fear within them had Ava instantly regretting her question. “You don’t have to,” she hurried to tell him but Sam was already shaking his head. 

“No,” he breathed with a harsh exhale. When he spoke, it was with such grief that it made Ava want to weep. “Nathan.” The name was a prayer. “Nathan is the reason for all of this.”

“Did something happen to him?” Sam gave a harsh bark of laughter and Ava’s hand stilled in his hair for a moment before she forced herself to continue her slow, comforting strokes. 

“No. He’s - he’s fine. I’m the one who died.” Ava frowned, feeling off balance as she tried to make sense of his cryptic inside joke but failed to. She was reluctant to push him further but didn’t know how to move past the memories she had invoked. It had been her intention to help Sam somehow but she saw now how foolish and, if she was quite honest, selfish that was. 

“Sam, I’m sorry,” she began but Sam just pulled away, fishing into his pocket for another cigarette. There was something ritualistic about the way he held up his lighter and took his first drag, eyes closing. Ava waited, not wanting to disrupt whatever process he was walking himself through.

It was a while before he started talking but when he did, he told her the story. It wasn’t everything but it was more than what Ava deserved to hear. He told it methodically, moving swiftly from the death of his mother and the orphanage, to the journal found in an old woman’s attic and the life it had inspired. He told her of his namesake and the voyage that had spurred Sam and his brother into travelling around the world in search of finding the truth - and treasure - that would prove their mother’s speculations. He told her about partnering with Rafe, about the cross and the guard and the fall. 

“We were so close, fuck.” The sun was beginning to set, setting the horizon aflame. “I can still remember the look on Nathan’s face when he thought we were going to make it.” 

When he told her about the gunshots, his hand drifted to his side in a way that made Ava suspect he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Three bullets, he said, and Ava pictured him covered in blood, gasping for air, falling from the roof of a prison into another nightmare.

“He thinks I’m dead.”

He told her that he was in that prison for thirteen years, and then he told her no more. Telling his story had cost him something, and now he leaned heavily on the balustrade with smoke-stained lips and ash on his fingers. 

Ava had watched Sam scour the land for a lost treasure the way a starving man would search for the last crumb, the only thing standing between him and oblivion; and now she knew why. So much had been taken from him. What was there left for him but the treasure of a dead man? Who was left for him to turn to but a penitent thief with a cross to bear and a secret to tell? 

“Sam,” she whispered, laying her hand upon his. Sam looked down at where they touched. “You can tell him. It’s okay. You can tell him.” 

“I…” He swallowed thickly and Ava hopped off the balustrade so that she could turn him to face her. She had thought that Rafe was keeping Sam here against his will but the reality was that Sam had forged a prison of his own making.

“If it was Jackson, I would want to know. No matter what had happened, no matter what he had done, I would want to know.” She made every word deliberate, hoping they would mean something to him. “Doesn’t Nathan deserve to know?” 

Something in Sam’s gaze changed and suddenly he was kissing her again, more aggressive and desperate than before. It was words he couldn’t speak pushed into action and so Ava weathered his tempest, letting him take whatever it was he needed in order to find his equilibrium again. When he broke the kiss, he didn’t move away but rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closing. 

“I think I’ve found my new favourite Avery,” he murmured and Ava smiled. She took a deep breath, appreciating the quiet moment - but it was short lived. 

“Well, what do we have here?” 

Sam whirled to face the interloper in the doorway, making sure to keep Ava behind him, his broad shoulders just about blocking her from view. It was Rafe who was leaning casually against the doorframe, Jackson and a mercenary stood behind him. 

“I was just asking Sam for some more detail about the cross to help narrow down my search,” Ava hurried to explain, making sure her demeanour was apologetic and polite. Sam’s frame sung with tension as if he was anticipating a fight and that was the absolute last thing Ava wanted, she just needed to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible.

“Now, Ava, we all know that’s not what you were doing, don’t we? You see, Orca saw you two colluding out here and thought it would prudent for me to know. Good thing too, considering what we just overheard.” Rafe transferred something back and forth in his hands while he spoke and it was only now that Ava realised it was her phone. “It wounds me that you would go behind my back like this, especially considering how good I’ve been to you and your brother.” 

Ava looked past Rafe to Jackson who was watching her with a dark expression and it was with a sinking feeling that she understood just how foolish it had been for her to come to Scotland with him. This job was about more than the money and Ava no longer measured up.

“Rafe, leave her out of it,” Sam warned, voice low, but Rafe just laughed. 

“Oh, Samuel! Trust you to jump to the defence of the pretty girl. You really are so desperate to be the hero, aren’t you? I would stop trying if I were you. It doesn’t suit you.”

Ava scowled and went to move out from behind Sam but he quickly reached out and pushed her back, never once taking his eyes off the men before them. Rafe watched the interaction with unblinking eyes, reminding Ava of the way a cat might watch a mouse scurry unawares into its clutches and she realised that Sam had just made the error of showing his hand.

With an elegant flourish, Rafe dropped Ava’s phone onto the ground and smashed it under his heel. It was a symbolic gesture more than anything but one that made his point clear enough. 

“Did you really think you could just call up your brother and everything would go back to normal?” he asked, sounding genuinely entertained at the thought. “The only good thing you ever did for your brother was die. You want to be the hero, Samuel? Stay dead.”

“Fuck you,” Ava spat before she could stop herself. It was dangerous, it was stupid, but she didn’t care. How dare Rafe use the tragedy of what Sam had gone through as a weapon against him, it was cruelty beyond measure. 

“Jackson, control your bitch sister,” Rafe ordered lazily and Jackson stormed forward on command. When Sam moved to stand in his way, Rafe snapped his fingers and Orca followed behind. Distracted by her brother, Sam didn’t see the mercenary unholster his weapon and Ava stared in shock as it was brought down hard against Sam’s temple. She rushed toward him but Jackson grabbed her before she could reach him, twisting her arm behind her at such an angle that she cried out.

“Let her go!” Sam thundered as he came to his knees, only to receive a vicious kick to the stomach that sent him back down to the ground. 

“Stop! Leave him alone!” she begged as Orca kicked him again in the ribs, Sam grunting in pain.

“You are going to learn your place,” Jackson hissed in Ava’s ear as she struggled in vain to get free. She didn’t care what Jackson was going to do to her - no matter how angry he was, he was still her brother so she knew she would recover. Her concern was Sam who was spitting out blood as he tried once more to come to his feet. 

Rafe was watching this from the doorway and as Jackson pushed Ava past him, he had the gall to give her a wink. Ava spat in his face, taking satisfaction from his look of humiliation and disgust. 

“You’re nothing but a bratty child whose parents didn’t love him,” she sneered. “No amount of treasure will ever make you good enough.” Rafe glared back at Ava with a chilling rage but Ava was only looking at Sam who wasn’t trying to defend himself from Orca but rather was focussed on getting to her.

_ I’m sorry,  _ she mouthed as she was dragged away with the haunting sound of flesh striking flesh echoing in her ear.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title by R.I.D aka inkskinned. 
> 
> Ahhhh, sorry for the huge delay in getting this up! Between getting a new full time job, squeezing a full time degree into part time hours and dealing with a death in the family, it's been hard to get into the mindset to write. I rewrote this a number of times and I'll probably rewrite it again when I've got some time because it's not my best writing, but I really wanted to get something up. 
> 
> I appreciate any comments as always! <3
> 
> EDIT: I ended up rewriting this yet again but I really wasn't happy with the version I uploaded. I definitely prefer this version, it was much more how I had originally planned it to be. I hope you like it too!


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